


give my gun away when it's loaded

by dawnstruck



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Movie(s), Sexual Content, Twincest, hurt!Connor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 18:06:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2160042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawnstruck/pseuds/dawnstruck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not the first time Connor has ever stepped up when Murph got himself into trouble, taking the brunt of the repercussions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	give my gun away when it's loaded

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the Damien Rice song "9 Crimes".
> 
> So into this couple at the moment, so sad that there's not a bigger fandom and thus more fanworks. Working on some more stories at the moment and hopefully I'll finish them all.

It's not the first time Connor has ever stepped up when Murph got himself into trouble, taking the brunt of the repercussions.

Connor was the one who claimed he'd gotten his brother distracted during school or at home, not allowing him to complete his homework. He was the one who told Ma he'd eaten the last bisquit, even though Murphy still had crumbs sticking to his face. He broke the vase, really, Ma, and he started the fight with the older lads.

More often than not their mother or their teachers had looked through the scheme and adjusted the punishment appropr,iately. Sometimes the look in Connor's eyes was so ernest and heart-melting that even Ma only put her hands to her hips and huffed in amusement, letting them off lightly with just a clap to their rumps, the sound of it easily drowned out by their giggles.

And it's not that Murphy's doing it on purpose, but he's just so hot-headed and impulsive that Connor is the only one who will see the possible consequences of his actions and try to do damage control.

So to protect his brother, Connor is more than willing to get a black eye or sit through detention or have some girl yell at him when he makes her think that he was the one who brazenly cat-called her.

This time is not entirly different. But somehow it just escalates.

Murphy playfully winks at some pretty brunette in the street and she winks back and it's literally nothing more than that, but then her asshole boyfriend or whoever throws a jealous fit, so Murphy starts needling him, varying between sharp grins and sharper words, and the man is obviously about to lose his shit.

And it wouldn't be so bad, Murphy can easily hold his own in a fight, even without his brother's back up, but the guy's got a bunch of friends with him, growling like antagonized dogs, and the only thing tethering them all right now is the feeble grasp of the woman on her boyfriend's thick arm, holding him back, pleading with him to just move along. It's not enough to stop any of them, so instead of trying to quench the force in its source, Connor decides to redirect it.

So he begins bad-mouthing the entirety of the group, hissing insults like a rattlesnake, making fun of the guy's bald head and his fat friend and the girl's slutty dress and how he fucked all their mothers who still kept asking for more.

And he's never gone to such extremes, the curse words falling from his lips as easy as a song or like bullets from a gun barrel, so fast that even Murphy steps back and watches him with wide eyes.

He's not sure what finally does the trick, but suddeny the traded threats transform into actions.

He avoids the first few punches, but they are six and then they just push Murphy aside and grab a hold of Connor, pummeling him with fists until all he can do his lift his arms to protect his head. Someone kicks him in the back of the knee and then he is down, curling up on the asphalt, and they are kicking, kicking the living shit out of him, and Murphy is screaming bloody murder, but he's being held back by two of the men, unable to do anything, but no one is attacking him which is all Connor cares about.

When they finally let up it's only because the girl is sobbing loudly and threatening to call the police. When her boyfriend yells at her she seems intimidated but doesn't back down. The guys spit at Connor, give him one last painful kick in the ribs and then move on like nothing happened.

Immediately Murphy falls to his knees, prying away his brother's arms to check for any major damage. Connor's nose and lips are bloodied, and his cheek looks like it will be bruised and swollen in only a few minutes, but there seems to be no injury that would cause a head trauma. The rest of his body tells a different story, though.

They are only a block from their loft, so Murphy tells him he's going to take him to there, I'll be alright, Conn, I got ya.

And Connor groans and hisses in pain when Murph pulls him to his feet because his entire body feels like one giant haematoma and his knees keep giving out. But his twin drags him along, interspersing an 'almost there' every few steps.

When they actually are there, Murph gently sets him down on the bed and Connor just lies there with his eyes closed, trying to tune out everything, especially the pain that is moving through him in throbbing waves.

That is why even when Murphy stars helping him out of his clothes, it takes him several minutes to realize that Murphy is shaking.

When Connor cracks an eye open – the left one, because the right one feels like it's already swelling shut -, Murphy is kneeling on the floor next the bed and soaking old rags in a bowl of water. He starts cleaning up the blood on Connor's face, dabbing at the split lip and busted nose, before placing the cloth on Connor's forehead. It doesn't do much. The headache has already set it.

But Connor watches as Murphy wrings out the rags with trembling hands, setting them on the worst of Connor's bruises, his ribs, his sternum, his left knee. A heel hit him in the thigh and on in the arse, but at least they missed his kidneys. When he breathes it hurts, but there's no rattling sound, so he's grateful for that, too.

“Murph,” he croaks tiredly when he notices his brother's expression, “I appreciate yer concern, but I think I should be the one pullin' a face.”

Because Murphy is biting his lower lip and his brow is furrowed deeply as his concentrates on his task, stare fixed on Connor's abused body.

“Ya hear me?” Connor nudges him with the ball of his thumb, the movement slightly uncoordinated, “An' how about ya bring me some painkillers while yer at it.”

Murphy gets up without a word, shuffling over to their well-stocked medicine cabinet, filked with bandages and hangover remedies.

Murph returns with a glass of water, a plastic container full of pills and some ointment for the bruises. Connor swallows three of the pills which is definitely more than recommended, but he's also in more pain than what the prescription was made for, so fuck it.

Connor sets the empty glass aside, but when Murphy sits down again he knocks into the bowl still standing on the ground and sets the water spilling in every direction. It's no big deal, under normal circumstances they wouldn't even bother cleaning that sort of thing up, after all they live in a total shithole, but all of a sudden Murphy just breaks down.

Like, really breaks down, complete with ugly sobbing and snot and hands helplessly wiping at his hot tears and Connor is admittedly at a bit of a loss, because the last time either of them cried like this they were about twelve. And honestly, if anyone should be crying right now it whould be Connor.

“Oy,” Connor flicks his finger against Murphy's forehead, “The fuck is happening inside there?”

“'s my fault,” Murphy grits out, grossly wiping his snot away with the back of his arm, but Connor only frowns, “What's yer fault?”

“That ya got hurt,” Murphy replies, shoulder shaking from the force of his contained sobs.

Connor manages a weak smile, “Aye. Glad ya noticed it.”

It's the wrong thing to say. A second later Murphy is crying even harder.

“'s always my fault,” he is saying almost incoherently, “Whene'er ya get hurt, 's always my fault. Even when we were li'l.”

“Someone's got ta save yer arse,” Connor manages, growing somewhat confused. He's been doing this all of their lives after all. Sure, this time had a more violent outcome, but he knew what he was getting himself into.

“Ya should't 'ave ta,” Murphy is biting his lower lip, “If I fuck up, I 'ave ta handle it myself,”

“No, ya don't,” Connor objects, closing his eyes, “Coz I'm the older brother.”

The fact that for once Murphy does not loudly object to that assessment tells Connor that his twin is really out of it.

So instead of insisting that he was born first, Murphy just uncaps the ointment and starts spreading it all over the bruises. Connor lets out a quiet hiss when the cool salve hits his skin and Murphy winces a little in sympathy, but keeps going.

Deliberately, Connor tries to relax, sinking into the mattress. At least the ointment's got aloe in it and doesn't smell like some vile shit, so Connor willingly endures the treatment.

Murphy's hands are calloused but careful as he rubs little circles across Connor's body, starting at his legs and slowly moving up until he reaches his face. Connor can feel the mattress dip slightly when Murph sits on the bed to get better access, and then there are fingers dabbing at his cheekbone and the hollow of his eye.

“Sit up a little,” Murphy tells him, his voice still rough from his tears, but Connor obeys, even though his body protests against the movement.

Murph puts on hand on his upper arm to steady him and then reaches around to get to the bruise on his lower back. It's this sort of half-embrace and Connor lets his forehead fall against Murphy's shoulder in front of him. Murphy stiffens slightly, but continues with the treatment.

“That all?” he asks when he's taken care of the bruises on his sibling's back, but Connor just snorts a little, pressing his good cheek against Murphy's sharp collarbone.

“There's another big one,” he chuckles lightly, “On my arse.”

Instead of a laugh, there's only a pause.

“Turn on yer belly then,” Murphy instructs him quietly, so Connor pushes away and does as he is told.

The throbbing starts up again when stretches out and crosses his arms over the pillow, tilting his head to the side so he can still breathe. He's already only in his boxers and then Murphy is tugging at the waistband, pulling the fabric down at bit and exposing his buttcheeks.

“'s it already look like an Easter egg?” Connor jokes, imagining all the different colors his skin will be turning, but Murphy just huffs, “Looks like ya got yer ass handed to ya.”

“Look who's talking,” Connor complains. Murphy's hand is on his behind then and he feels like he should be talking to make it less awkward, but he literally cannot be arsed.

They are naked around each other all of the time, especially since they moved into the fucking loft that has no proper bathroom. They wrestle around naked and sometimes just lounge around because they can't be bothered to put on clothes. So this is not necessarily the strangest thing they have ever done, but it definitely feels more intimate. Because Murphy is touching his bare ass, not in quick slap or a hard pinch, but with tender fingers and gentle pressure.

Connor doesn't say anything, though, because mentioning it would make it even weirder, but then Murphy keeps rubbing and rubbing and the bloody bruise can't be that big.

“Ya done anytime soon?” he jokes mildly and immediately Murph pulls his hand away as if burned.

Connor reaches behind himself and tugs up the shorts once more before rolling onto his back again, sporting an easy grin. Murphy is still sitting next to him on the bed. His eyes are averted.

“Hey,” Connor pokes at his knee, “Ya still upset 'bout this stupid shit? T'was just a li'l fight. I've had worse, ya know.”

But Murphy doesn't react and Connor is getting a bit agitated now because he didn't save him from getting beat up just so his brother would start beating himself up, so he just grabs Murph by the chin and forces him to look at him.

Murphy's pupils are blown so wide that for one frantic moment Connor thinks that surely he must've take some sort of drug. It would explain the random break down and the shaking and his flushed cheeks.

But then Murphy leans in to press their foreheads together like they often do, only he doesn't actually do it this time, he ducks his head and presses his lips against Connor's instead. And even that is not overly unheard of, they exchange fleeting kisses of victory and exuberance all the time, planting it on whatever bodypart is closest at the moment, cheek, neck, knuckles.

So Connor doesn't huff or push him away because maybe Murphy just needs this right now, a sort of apology for getting his brother beat black and blue. And then Murphy pulls back, looking him in the eye hesitantly as if to ask whether he is forgiven, and Connor offers him a small smile.

That should be all of it then and Murphy should be shoving at him, yapping about how they are two weepy old women, and Connor would throw his pillow at him and then they could finally call it a night because the painkillers have kicked in and are making him drowsy.

But none of this happens. Instead, Murphy licks his lips in a nervous swipe and then he's leaning back in and his hand is on Connor's knee, grabbing tightly, but what's even more confusing it the wet mouth on his, the chapped lips pressing in, a tongue trying to coax him open.

For a moment or so Connor just sits frozen - then he is grabbing Murphy by the shoulders, pushing him away, shaking him so hard he makes his head whip back and forth.

“What did ya take?!” he is yelling harshly, vaguely aware that this is not the best way to handle this situation, “What the hell did ya take?!”

Murphy grasps at his wrists, trying to hold on, trying to make him stop, who knows, but the look on his face is one of horror.

“Answer me, God damnit!” Connor barks, close to just slapping him, because they drink, they smoke, they are guilty of almost every other crime, have broken almost all of the commandments, but they have drawn the line at this, “What did ya take?!”

“What are ya talkin' about?!” Murphy finally shouts back, but Connor keeps shaking him.

“The drugs, ya bastard!” he hisses, “What did ya take? Ecstasy? Cocaine?”

Because he can't believe he didn't notice, can't help but wonder how long Murph has been hiding this from him, whether he's already developed an addiction, is indebted to some dealer, and how he could possibly lie to his brother about it all.

“The fuck are ya on about?” Murphy gives him a bewildered look, “I didn't take any drugs!”

He finally manages to free himself from the hard grasp, but Connor still reaches out and grabs him by the collar, pulling him closer, inspecting his face for any signs of lies and substance abuse.

There are red spots on Murph's cheek which may have been caused by the recent whiplash and it's making the rest of his face look pale, but his eyes are clear again, his pupils a normale size, and none of it makes sense.

“I don't take drugs,” Murphy huffs, obviously feeling insulted, “Ya think I wan' ta end up like some crack whore?”

The blood is rushing in Connor's ears, the adrenalin slowly fading, and his whole body is hurting again. But a rest of panic still lingers, making his hands tremble, trying to figure out what has happened.

“Then why...” he starts up, thinking of Murphy's tongue in his mouth, “Was that.. was that just a prank?”

Murphy's shoulders tense and once again he looks away.

“Aye,” he says tersely, “A prank.”

But despite his earlier worries Connor can tell after all whenever his brother is lying. And that right there was a big fat lie alright.

“Murph,” he murmurs, tugging at his shirt, “Murph, look a' me.”

When Murphy does his eyes are steady but resigned. As if he had already surrendered to the inevitable fate. And Connor thinks of him crying and blaming himself and gently taking care of him and his wounds and maybe it does make sense after all.

He's never thought about it before, of course he hasn't, and he wonders whether Murphy has, but maybe none of that really matters.

He just leans in, pulls Murph closer and hesitantly kisses him.

Their lips are dry and the sides of their noses squished together and they don't even move except for the harsh breath still coming out of them after all the yelling and the confusion, but it's a kiss and suddenly the whole moment is just rather small and quiet.

After a few seconds Connor moves just a little, dragging the wet inside of his lower lip up and across Murphy's mouth and then it's like the levee breaks.

Murphy's hands are on the back of his neck, in his hair, pulling and pushing, and his open mouth is a wet hot fire, dragging Connor in, his tongue finding its way like it has all the right to be there.

Connor is more tentative, letting his brother vent his pent-up emotions, letting himself be explored and plundered and accepting it all, kissing back and breathing harshly through his nose.

Their stubble catches on each other and it's so strange, Connor's never kissed a man before and he's certain that Murph hasn't either. But they are still good at this, like they fit, and considering they are so in tune in every other aspect of their lives maybe it's really no surprise.

A part of Connor thinks that maybe this is a moment where they should talk before delving head-first into a precarious situation, but it's not like Murphy really gives him an opportunity to use his mouth for such a purpose.

When his lips are unoccupied again it's because Murphy has gotten distracted and is now latching onto the side of Connor's neck, sucking and biting hard.

“We should-” Connor manages to say, but then it turns into a quiet groan as Murphy clearly knows what he is doing.

“I know,” Murphy answers, but apparently his thoughts are going in a different direction because he is reaching for the ointment again. Connor needs a moment to figure out what it's meant for, but then Murphy is tugging off his clothes in a hasty manner until he is fully naked.

He is also fully erect, just like Connor who at least still has his underwear covering him, though it doesn't do a very good job at it.

And all of this is ten kinds of crazy since Connor can't possibly go on and have sex with his brother, but God, does he want to.

Murphy's reaching behind himself now and Connor can't really see anything, but he knows what Murph's doing, knows that his fingers are coated with the soothing salve and are slowly pressing into his entrance. But Murphy's never been patient, always has gotten what he wanted the momet he wanted it, and Connor has a feeling that for once this is something Murphy has been waiting for a very long time and therefore he is not willing to wait even a minute longer.

He seems to deem himself ready much too quickly, but then he's already aggressively freeing Connor of his shorts, so Connor doesn't really have time to object. Murph is on him only a moment later, pressing down insistently, and they both gasp, though Murphy's voice is tinged with pain.

He doesn't seem to mind much, though, because then he is riding Connor hard and fast, holding onto his shoulders and lifting himself up before pushing back down. And Connors fingernails are digging into his hips, trying not to lose his grip, and then they are kissing again, kissing and groaning and fucking.

Before long, Connor comes with a drawn-out moan and Murphy reaches down to stroke himself, just as rough and quick as everything before, coming in long streaks all over their bellies.

For a moment they remain in that possition. When Murph leans forward this time he does press his damp forehead against Connor's, but their mouths are open as well, breathing into each other.

Connor's brain is only slowly catching up with what just happened, but Murphy is pushing him down on the mattress, climbing off him but nestling in close. It's not really cuddling, but their arms are touching as they cool down in the stale air of the loft.

And Connor is wondering whether he should be freaking out or feeling ecstatic, but inbetween the beating and the painkillers and the orgasm everything is rather overwhelming and his eyes simply fall shut.

 

  
In the middle of the night he wakes up again to the feeling of small kisses wandering down along his spine, a hint of beard tickling his skin. It takes a moment to all come back to him and then he groans a little because his body feels like it got run over by a bulldozer, but also because his brother is obviously not inclined to let this become a singular incident of which they will never talk again.

And Connor must've taken permant leave of his senses, but leans into the touches, arches into Murphy's strong hands that glide up and down along his sides, kneading and soothinig, careful to avoid his injuries, even in the darkness.

It's just that usually he isn't one for actual physical intimacy. He hugs their various friends and companions all the time, he reaches out to Murphy without even a thought, but neither of them ever really acted on any sexual needs. They've been with women, sure, but it's not even that proper dating doesn't appeal to them but that the idea of hooking up with some random bird is equally as uninteresting.

So maybe they had this coming for a long time. Maybe, when their third grade teacher told their mother that her sons fixation on each other would only get them in trouble oneday, she had the right of it after all, even it her worries probably didn't extent to this kind of behaviour.

Connor lets out a shuddering breath because he knows where this is going. Knows that once Murph has set his mind on something, no one will be able to distract him. He wonders for how long his brother might have been thinking about doing these things, especially as he executes every single touch with such a dedicated accuracy that it just cannot be a spur of the moment thing.

There are no words spoken between them, for fear of fragmenting this moment or because there is simply no need for any questions or explanations, Connor isn't entirely sure.

He is lying on his front, forehead pressed against his folded arms, much like he was just a few hours before, only that now when Murphy puts some salve on his ass, he's not rubbing it on the bruise, but on his hole. Maybe this was what made Murphy snap after all; maybe they should be thanking those lowlives for beating Connor up in the first place.

And Connor's never known he wanted this, any of this, but he wants it now and he is grateful that Murphy takes his time with him, that he prepares him and gets him lose until he is biting his own hand to keep from moaning wantonly.

When he thinks he going to either come or cry, Murphy finally pulls his fingers out and instead drapes his body over the entire length of Connor's, the weight a hot, heavy pressure, Murphy's cock hard along the crack of his arse.

Then he is pushing in and Connor's breath catches, his eyes widen, marveling at the incredible feeling of being filled.

“Conn,” Murphy's voice sounds strained and breathless, moving his hips in tiny jabs, “Oh God, Connor.”

Connor unfolds his arms then, his hands shoving their way under Murphy's palms where they are pressed into the mattress, and their fingers entwine and squeeze and hold on for dear life.

When Murphy's thrusts turn more insistent, he hits something that has Connor bucking his hips and arching his back.

“Fuck,” he curses, incredulous at the intense pleasure, “Fuck me.”

And of course that what Murphy's already doing, but he doesn't make a snide comment, just does as he is told, fucking into Connor and holding him in place, pressing his chest against the sweaty back underneath and biting at the slick neck.

Connor's positively whimpering now and he'd be embarrassed by how needy he sounds if it weren't for how great it feels.

He rubs himself against the off-white cotton sheets and Murphy jabs his hips just so and then he is coming, clenching down hard around the cock in his arse, and he can feel Murphy come, too, the sensation dragging another set of moans from them both.

For a few moments there is just the sound of their exhales in the dark. When Murphy carefully pulls out, Connor grimaces at the unpleasant feeling, but it turns into content smile when his brother rolls off him, this time remaining much closer than before.

Trying to be the big spoon, Connor realizes with amusement, and that's not something he can allow. So he turns in Murphy's arms until they are facing each other. There's just barely enough lamplight streaming in from the windows to discern the outline of Murphy's face, and Connor doesn't need much more than that to tell what his twin is thinking and feeling.

Right now Murphy has a look of amazement in his eyes, but also of worry and uncertainty. Connor could make a joke or call him names, just to make light of the situation, but he doesn't. Instead, he leans forward, nudging Murphy's nose with his own, and offers another kiss.

It's similar to the one he initiated before, slow and welcoming, but it feels different from his side, because now he knows that he is not just doing for Murphy's sake, but for his own as well.

The manner in which Murphy returns the kiss is almost shy as if they hadn't done all that and more before.

“Not exactly the outcome I was expecting when taking on those big fellas,” Connor comments, unable to resist the urge to lift a hand and run his thumb along Murphy's bottom lip that turns into a small pout.

“Never do that again,” Murphy tells him, not annoyed, not stroppy, but genuinely pleading, “I cannot stand to see you get hurt for my sake.”

“Hey,” Connor tightens his grip around his chin a little, “None of that. I will always protect you. Because that's what brothers do.”

This time a small smile tugs at the corner of Murphy's mouth, “And kissing each other? That's what brothers do, too?”

“Don't know,” Connor shrugs a little, “Never met any other brothers like us. And I don't plan on kissing them either.”

“Good,” Murphy nods in approval, “You should only kiss me from now on.”

“If that's what you want,” Connor agrees.

“It's what I want,” Murphy assures him.

And when it comes down to that, it's all much easier than Connor would have expected.

Because it's not the first time Connor has ever stepped up when Murph got himself into trouble, but it's definitely the first time he doesn't mind the repercussions.


End file.
